


Papa Bear

by WeaglesAndBrobeans



Series: A Very Capitals Collection [2]
Category: Hockey - Fandom, NHL - Fandom, RPF Hockey, Washington Capitals - Fandom
Genre: Guru - Freeform, Hockey, NHL, Papa Bear - Freeform, RPF Hockey - Freeform, Washington Capitals, hurt comfort, mentor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 15:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeaglesAndBrobeans/pseuds/WeaglesAndBrobeans
Summary: “I was losing. But I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Holtby began. “You know, when your coach can’t speak to it, when the highlight real can’t speak to it. When you’re playing the best you’ve ever played, but somehow at the end of three periods you look up at the scoreboard and you’ve added another L to the record column?”Andre’s breathing had escalated, shaky and uneven and so very stressed. It was his story. The steadiest man on this team had walked this road before and had sat out half the season and early into the playoffs as a result of it.





	Papa Bear

Braden Holtby notices things. He’s one of the few who can tell when Nicky is upset or focused or simply worn out. He knows when Vrana is actually excited versus when he’s putting on a front in some misguided attempt to fulfill his apparent role as the hype of their team. And the Capitals haven’t had many on their team, but he’s been able to pinpoint who needs to be pulled aside for a reiteration of the “You can play too” talk. His entire job is to zero in, to observe and react accordingly and somehow that on-ice quality, has always been present in his personal life as well. 

That’s how he found himself showered and dressed and waiting patiently in an empty locker room for a certain young Swede to finally get off the ice. 

He’d seen the slow burn as game after game after game passed with no breakthrough. Andre Burakovsky had been playing exceptionally. Andre has been working hard. Andre was doing all the right things. But Andre hadn’t scored a single point. It was incredibly reminiscent of the playoffs last spring when he’d returned to join the conference final after his injury from the Columbus game. The effort, the frustration. The drought. 

Everyone knew Burky had hired a sports psychologist at the start of summer- Holtby himself had suggested it. It seemed to be going well, the kid had started the year with anticipation and a positive outlook. Holtby recalled beaming with pride as Burky had told him all about his progress from the past months. But the best of outlooks could only withhold so much pressure. 

Holtby wanted to touch base with the kid before he burnt himself out. So as the 23 year old stayed well after the end of practice to shoot and shoot again and shoot again, Holtby figured it was worth waiting him out. As he lounged on the bench, his mind wandered back to the first time Burky had stepped foot in this locker room. The first round pick was eager and all smiles – when eyes were on him. Holts saw the nerves behind his grins, the thick swallows and bitten lip. But it didn’t stop the kid from scoring in his NHL debut. He had grit. 

Seeing the rookies grow into men was one of Holtby’s favorite things. His own kids, Benjamin and Belle, had brought out the papa bear in him as did any child that was inevitably robbed when he tried to toss them a puck. But it was something else altogether watching a scrawny 18 year old bound into their locker room. The cocky ones soon to be humbled, the insecure soon to find their stride, the fearful sure to gain courage. Braden had always been a mentor. He’d loved being that quiet strength, someone that his boys could come to about anything and he’d welcome them without judgment. 

Seeing Andre fight to grow, fight to change, yet be met with struggle was a feeling that hit close to home. Just last year, that had been Holtby’s own experience. 

As Holtby pondered, he heard the door to the locker room reverberate as it slammed open. Andre stalked in, drenched in sweat, chest laboring from the extra effort he’d put in. The tall Swede froze catching sight of his goalie. His eyes widened in surprise before they settled into resigned understanding. His shoulders dropped like a cake that couldn’t quite rise. “It’s fine Holts.”

“Yeah, except it’s not,” retorted Braden. “Go get showered, I’ll be here.”

It wasn’t long before Andre sat before his goalie, knee bouncing and jittery, eyes down, and tension wrapped around his torso like a chord. “I’m gonna get there Holts. I just gotta push through. It’ll come,” he ground out. 

Holtby didn’t respond. He sat and observed the young man before him. Dark eyes, ill-at-ease, body vibrating with tension and frustration yet at the same time almost sagging from exhaustion. The silence dragged on and eventually Andre sucked in a shuddering breath looking up at the Canadian. “Well?”

Eyes soft, Holtby’s lip pulled up into a subtle smirk. “Do you know why I lost my start last year?” The Swede, caught off guard and utterly confused, just gaped for a moment. “Umm, no? Coach didn’t really talk about it much.”

Holtby nodded, he knew as much. He may be open in a welcoming sense, but he was extremely private as well. He’d needed the space to work things out on his own. Burky here didn’t have that luxury. He had to struggle under the lime light until he pushed through this most recent obstacle. 

“I was losing. But I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Holtby began. “You know, when your coach can’t speak to it, when the highlight real can’t speak to it. When you’re playing the best you’ve ever played, but somehow at the end of three periods you look up at the scoreboard and you’ve added another L to the record column?”

Andre’s breathing had escalated, shaky and uneven and so very stressed. It was his story. The steadiest man on this team had walked this road before and had sat out half the season and early into the playoffs as a result of it.

“Holts if this is supposed to make me feel better-,” he began, but Holtby wasn’t done. “It’s not. It’s not supposed to make you feel better, it’s supposed to make you feel normal. Christ’s sake kid, Ovi’s been there. It’s what you do with it. For me, it was a mindset shift. And it took way too fuckin long for me to sort through it, but I did. And we got the cup. What I’m saying is, it’s not always about trying harder or grinding through it. Sometimes it’s stepping back and letting go. You know it’s mental, that’s why you took my advice last spring. But then you come out here and it’s clear you’re not getting the rest you need, it’s clear you’re replaying every moment of the last game in your head, it’s clear you’re still treating this like it’s about what you need to do. But it’s all up here,” he said, pointing to his temple. “I don’t want to see you staying late again this week. You take that time and you clear your head.”

Andre gulped and took a deep breath. It’s easier said than done. But he didn’t voice his hesitations. Nobody knew it better than this goaltender. “Okay, I promise.”


End file.
